


never wash the sand from my feet

by phae



Series: Phlintasha Spice [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Day At The Beach, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 16:45:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phae/pseuds/phae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Avengers. Clint and Natasha drag Phil to the beach for some r&r.</p>
            </blockquote>





	never wash the sand from my feet

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Minor Daddy Kink. Nothing explicit.
> 
> Title is from All Time Low's _The Beach_.

Clint and Natasha have an after-SHIELD contingency plan that hinges on Phil agreeing to flee to a tropical paradise unknown to take advantage of every approved vacation they never got more than a day to enjoy, which they both know he’ll never do. After New York, they spend far too long sitting next to his hospital bed wondering if experimental alien tech has the same general effect on humans that it does on said aliens. Phil wants to make it up to them, since he was in a medically induced coma while they watched his back and worried endlessly, though they have yet to admit it. So Phil lets them convince him to spend two weeks in a SHIELD safe house on a Hawaiian island.

 

Phil sits in a lawn chair at the edge of the tide with the dwindling waves lapping at his toes. They carefully manhandled him into trunks and a thin white button down, “So you can at least look like you want to be here,” Natasha had teased. Clint had been busy doing up and undoing the top few buttons on the shirt, trying to decide what level of visible chest hair was most attractive on Phil.

 

Natasha and Clint are wading in the water near Phil, hunting for shark’s teeth. Phil admires the stark contrast of Tasha’s black bikini against her fair skin and the elegant curve of her back as she bends down to sift her fingers through the wet sand. Clint’s body is just as marvelous to ogle, but for different reasons. His purple trunks sag low on his hips, and his rich tan, Phil knows, continues all the way down because Clint likes to train for all possible scenarios, and that apparently includes going up against cloth-disintegrating ray guns.

 

Natasha straightens with a smirk and tosses her loose braid back over her shoulder. She skips two steps as she heads towards Phil before catching herself and continuing more sedately. She holds out her hand palm up and says, “Another one,” offering the black tooth to Phil. It’s still jagged on one side and smooth on the other. He accepts it with an approving smile and adds it to her growing collection in the plastic cup balanced on his knee.

 

Natasha turns back to the sea and cants her hips as she taunts Clint. “That’s six to nil, Barton.” Phil is torn between trailing his eyes over the swell of her ass, temptingly on display right at eye level, and following the wake of Clint’s tongue as he sticks it out at Natasha and then licks his lips with a suggestive leer.

 

Natasha huffs and probably rolls her eyes at Clint. She heads back into the shallows, her hips swaying just the way she knows Phil likes. They resume their search silently, and Phil lets his feet gradually sink into the sand.

 

There’s a sudden sharp, “Caw caw!” as Clint darts down and back up just as a wave breaks against his calves. Grinning widely, he jogs up to present Phil with his find, a perfectly intact tooth the size of the pad of his thumb.

 

His grin dims down to a more bashful version as he says, “Found one for you, Daddy.”

 

“Thank you,” Phil says sincerely with a faint blush, squeezing Clint’s fingers as he palms the tooth.

 

Clint leans over and tips the cup with Natasha’s teeth forward, quickly cataloging her haul. “Suck on it, Nat!” he calls over his shoulder, “Mine’s bigger!”

 

Phil doesn’t comment, just leans back in his chair to wait. Barely a second later Natasha’s legs are wrapped around Clint’s torso, flipping him over into the sand as she twists around him, the end of her braid briefly slapping Phil’s knee. She lands sitting on Clint’s chest, her thighs snugly framing his face. “You wish,” she says, bringing her legs together to squish Clint’s cheeks. “Daddy has at least an inch on you.”

 

With a startled laugh, Phil digs his toes out of the sand and extends his leg until he can wrap his ankle behind Clint’s knee. Phil tugs and Clint rolls his hips to tangle his legs around Phil’s, turning his head to nibble at the inside of Natasha’s thigh. Natasha reaches one hand back and slowly rubs up and down Phil’s calf.

 

For a moment, Phil wishes he could be content with this laidback lifestyle, but then he recalls the feeling of incapacitating a weapons dealer with his silk tie, the sight of Natasha effortlessly slipping from the role of a simpering victim to a deadly assassin with the slant of her eyes, the sound of Clint’s bowstring releasing tension and a precisely aimed arrow over his comm, and Phil can’t bring himself to regret a single thing about their lives.


End file.
